Waiting


The rain tapped on the pane of the window with beseeching fingertips as she watched the droplet bounce, drum, and roll from the leaves of the red oak in her front yard. If you had asked her how long she had been sitting there, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you. If you had asked her how long it had been raining, she had wouldn’t have been able to tell you that either. All she would have told you was that she was waiting.

“Waiting.”

She was always waiting. She would always wait. Wait in beauty. Wait in silence.

She did make quite a lovely loading screen.

  

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